Chapter 13
The bookshop opens tomorrow. After sweeping the floor for the millionth time, I gaze around.
I am pretty damn pleased with myself. Everything is just as it should be, from the kids and teenage section, complete with a Highland coo footstool that I found online and couldn’t resist, to the local interest/Scottish section, packed full of books about Ullapool, fishing, wildlife and walking trails.
My thrillers section now features a large display of Richard J.
Walker’s books that his publisher kindly sent for the bookshop launch.
The cookbooks are arranged in my canary-yellow cabinet.
I pasted blue and yellow floral wallpaper in the back panels of the cabinet, so there’s a nice surprise if I manage to sell out of books.
I’ve displayed some of the beautiful crockery I found in the shop when I arrived, as a tribute to The Old Tea Shop.
My before and after videos on social media are full of praise for my upcycling abilities.
However, they still haven’t attracted more views than Rory, the ‘hunky Highlander’, painting the mural. That’s by far my most popular video.
Granny’s handwritten recipe cards, including the ‘Campbell family scone recipe’, are displayed in a variety of colourful frames around the cabinet.
I haven’t been able to find her cookbook, which I was sure I’d brought with me to Ullapool, but I’m hoping it will turn up.
I can almost hear her voice telling me how proud she is of me.
It feels like she is here in the bookshop with me.
The walls feature golden quotes from my favourite books.
Everywhere I look, I see something that I love: the small gift section full of products from local craftspeople, my colourful furniture, the brightly painted panels behind the till.
The space is full of light and vibrancy.
I used to beg Seb to let me re-cover his two grey armchairs in our living room, but he refused.
He always called my taste ‘a bit much’. I wish he could see it realized now.
It works. The bold colours don’t fight with one another but create a gorgeous, welcoming space.
This is my shop, and I’m finally creating the home I always wanted.
The local interest section sits proudly beside Rory’s mural of Ullapool, which is now finished.
I have to give it to Rory – the painting is a complete showstopper.
The beachfront, the fishing boats, the rows of shops and houses, the mountains, the sunset, he’s recorded it all.
The vibrant colours will catch the eye of everyone who walks in the front door.
Not only that, but he’s managed to capture something of the village’s essence that only someone who knows and loves Ullapool could.
Within the painting, you have the sense that these little houses are filled with people who know one another deeply, who care and look after one another.
I love it, from the Ullapool title at the top, to the artist’s signature at the bottom. Even if it is Rory’s signature.
I can hardly believe that I’ve done this.
Before arriving in Ullapool, I’d barely changed a light bulb.
Now, I’ve completed a full renovation almost entirely by myself.
There was of course help along the way. Rory was right that people do lend a hand here.
I drafted in a local joiner to help fix some of the bookshelves and signage.
A plumber fixed the tiny downstairs toilet that had been completely blocked when I arrived, and transformed it into the prettiest loo that I’ve ever had the pleasure of peeing in.
Donna helped me finish painting the quotes on the wall.
And then there’s the mural, the work of art that takes centre stage in the shop.
The shop is my work, but it takes a village.
Now the only thing left to do is the launch tomorrow, to introduce my bookshop to the world.
I walk outside to gaze at the shop’s exterior. It has changed completely, from the off-white dull unit to a mint-green shop front proudly declaring the shop’s name: The Next Chapter.
As I look up at the bookshop sign, Rory walks outside and leans against a lamp post.
‘Admiring your work?’
I nod proudly. ‘Yup. I can’t believe it’s all finished. I think I’ve aged at least ten years in the past two months, but it’s done. You’re coming tomorrow, aren’t you? You’ll talk to everyone about the mural and not utter a single word about how my bookshop isn’t needed in Ullapool, correct?’
‘Scout’s honour.’
King Rory of Ullapool is my local VIP guest, alongside the actual VIP in Richard the author, who is going to stay at a local bed and breakfast. The whole village has been on ‘Richard watch’ for days. No one has spotted him in the wild yet, but rumour has it he’ll arrive very soon.
‘What are your plans to celebrate?’
‘I’m going to take my first ever soak in the bath upstairs,’ I declare. ‘I’m going to stare at the garish green tiles in the bathroom and picture you removing them. Only one month until I’ve won our bet.’
‘Nothing wrong with the tiles.’
‘There won’t be, as soon as you change them. Anyway, I’m going. Don’t work too hard.’
Climbing the stairs from the bookshop up to my apartment is like going from heaven into hell.
I can’t wait to start bringing in some cash so I can, first of all, break even, and second, start transforming my flat.
The ideas are all lined up and ready to go, but my bank balance is sternly against me taking any action just yet.
As I start to run the bath, I glare at the green tiles that line the narrow bathroom. My nemesis. I can’t wait for Rory to rip them off the wall. I plan to cheer triumphantly behind him as he does it. I run the water for a couple of minutes, the old pipes taking a while to warm up.
I take out some bubble bath and pour it under the water, hoping the scent overpowers the musty scent in the bathroom. Pressing play on my independent women playlist, I turn the volume right up as I start to undress while dancing around the small space.
I lower myself into the bath and stretch out, enjoying the perfect temperature.
If I close my eyes, I don’t even have to look at the tiles.
I can dream of my Pinterest board instead.
As the song comes to an end, I hear a weird screeching sound outside.
I ignore it, hoping it will go away and stop disturbing my peace.
But, as the next song starts, I hear it again, despite the beat of the music.
I sit forward, turn the music off and listen intently.
‘Ava!’
It sounds like a man straining his voice outside. Weird. I jump out of the bath, wrap a towel around myself, and listen for it again.
‘Ava!’
There it is.
Even in the two syllables of my name, I detect the urgency.
I dash along the hallway wearing only my towel. I take the stairs as quickly as humanly possible down to the bookshop. Seb flashes into my mind. Is he here? I shake my head. Surely not. Just because the voice is male, it doesn’t mean it belongs to Seb.
‘Ava!’ he roars again.
I fling open the door. Rory stands outside in the street, gazing up at my flat.
‘I’m here,’ I call over. ‘What is it?’
He glances at my towel before rather too deliberately meeting my eye.
Do I detect some hesitancy in his expression?
Like he doesn’t know where to look. He runs a hand over his hair and starts to knead the back of his neck.
I pull the towel up higher and hold it tight to my body. Jesus. How embarrassing.
‘I think your bath is leaking,’ he says. ‘I’ve got water seeping in through the ceiling.’
Oh.
Fuuuuuck.
My hand flies to my mouth. Rory averts his gaze just in case, but thankfully the towel remains in place.
‘I can come and have a look?’ Rory offers, before clearing his throat. ‘At the bath, I mean.’
His face flushes. I wonder what he’s getting all flustered about. I’m the one with water pouring into his shop space. I nod as he follows me inside. I pad along the bookshop floor towards the stairs. Rory stops and gazes up at the ceiling.
He points. ‘You’ve got water coming in too.’
‘Oh no, the mural!’ I exclaim, running towards the wall.
Shit, shit, shit.
The mural’s vibrant colours are blurring together as the water drips down the ceiling and splashes onto the floor. Rory moves straight over to inspect the till area, grabs a cardboard box and places it underneath the mural.
‘Not ideal, but it’ll do for now. Let’s go upstairs so I can have a look,’ he says, moving towards the stairs. ‘There’s a lot of water coming down here, how many baths are you having?!’
I pad along after him, still very much in my towel. I suddenly feel guilty.
I’d let the water run for some time before I’d popped the plug in. I was supposed to be waiting for the water to heat up, but then I’d been distracted and forgotten about it. Meanwhile, I had been flooding Rory’s shop, and my own, the night before my launch.
This is the last thing I need.
Rory takes the stairs two at a time. ‘Have you got a bucket? That cardboard box is going to get pretty soggy.’
‘Erm, I’ll check in the cupboard upstairs.’
I grab my dressing robe and wrap it around my body, tying it tightly, then retrieve a small orange bucket from the airing cupboard and run downstairs to place it under the leak. Back at the scene of the crime, Rory has removed the bath panel and is inspecting underneath.
‘I think it’s just a faulty seal,’ he says. ‘I should be able to get something to fix it.’
I empty my toothbrush holder and and use it to scoop water out of the bath and tip it down the toilet.
‘Less water means less strain on the bath seal,’ I murmur.
Rory nods. ‘Good idea.’
I continue to scoop the water out of the bathtub as he crouches down underneath.
‘How bad is your shop? I’ll get straight on to my insurance and pay for whatever it costs to fix it up… I’m so sorry.’